PARENTS v. DAUGHTER; DUTY v. AUTHORITY.
Yes, if Anna would but consent! But, that was the very thing she
would not do.
After both her parents, who were so strangely unlike their high-minded
child, had employed every means in their power to induce Anna to join
their conspiracy by using the influence she had over van Nerekool, the
girl had replied: "No, never!" just as firmly and just as resolutely as
Charles himself had uttered those words in reply to Mrs. van Gulpendam
in the garden of the Residence.
"No, never, never!" said the true-hearted girl as emphatically as it
was possible to pronounce the words.
"But remember," cried Laurentia, "his whole career depends upon the
attitude you choose to assume in this matter!"
"Charles shall never condescend to seek promotion by stooping to a
mean, dishonourable action," was the girl's reply.
"Anna!" shouted the Resident, in a furious rage, "take care what you
say! I advise you to keep some check upon your tongue!"
"For goodness sake, Gulpie," interposed Laurentia soothingly, "now do
be quiet--anger will not mend matters." And then turning again to her
daughter, she continued: "And Anna, I wish you not to lose sight of
the fact that the possibility of your union with van Nerekool depends
wholly on your present line of conduct."
"My union!" sadly exclaimed the poor girl.
"A woman who is really in love," continued her mother, "has a very
considerable amount of power to influence the man upon whom she has
set her affections."
"But, mother, do you then really wish me to try and persuade Charles
to lend himself to an infamous breach of duty?"
"Anna, don't go too far!" roared van Gulpendam, beside himself
with anger.
"Would you," continued Anna, "would you have me deliberately widen
the gap which is already growing between us? No, no, I shall not do
that. All joy has been swept out of my life for ever; and I have now
but one wish left, and that is that my image, pure and unsullied,
may continue to live in his memory. I can never become his wife,
that I know well; but my name at least shall remain with him as fair
and as spotless as the remembrance of a blissful dream!"
"But, Anna," persisted her mother, speaking in her most honeyed and
winning tones, "but, Anna, my dear girl, why should you talk thus? Why
should there be no joy for you in this life? Surely that is tormenting
yourself quite needlessly."
"Oh, mother!" cried the poor girl, "do spare me the pain and the
sorrow of having to utter words which will be most distressing to
you and most painful to my father to hear. No, no! Of happiness for
me there can be no further question--of a union with van Nerekool,
I must never again allow myself to think!"
"Ah," sighed Laurentia, "if you would but--"
"Yes, mother, just so, if I could but--But I will not. Suppose,
for a moment, that Charles were weak enough to yield to my
persuasion. Suppose I could succeed in talking him over, and could get
him to consent to your proposals. Why then, from that very moment,
every tender feeling would be wiped clean out of my breast. If such
a thing ever could be--why then, I would utterly despise a man who
is ready to offer up his duty to his inclination; and who could be
base enough to stoop to a crime, in order to win the girl upon whom
he has set his heart."
"Anna, not another word!" cried van Gulpendam, in the most threatening
accents.
"But, father," she continued, "surely I ought to tell you what
my feelings are. I must give utterance to thoughts which seem to
choke me! As certainly as I know that I wish him to keep a pure and
stainless memory of me--so surely am I convinced that he also, on his
part, desires nothing more fervently than that his name should dwell
with me, as it does now, great, noble, and strictly upright! Oh, I
could not, indeed, bear to face the life of utter desolation, which
would be in store for me were I compelled to despise him whom now,
above all human beings, I look up to as noble and great. No, no,
if such a thing could ever come to pass--then my misery would be too
great a burden to bear! Come what will, the memory of Charles shall
always remain unsullied in my heart."
Mrs. van Gulpendam could but heave a deep sigh, while her husband
was trembling with suppressed rage.
At length he exclaimed, in the tones of a man who has fully made up
his mind, "Let us cut this short, it has lasted too long. I take it
then, Anna, that you absolutely and finally refuse to accede to your
mother's suggestion?"
"Yes, father--I do refuse most positively," said Anna, in a tone not
one whit less resolute than her father's.
"Mind, you are utterly spoiling all his prospects in life," said van
Gulpendam, warningly.
"Better that," was her reply, "much better, than that I should rob
him of his honour."
"It makes your marriage with him impossible."
"I know it but too well," sighed Anna, "but I cannot help that--the
fault of that lies with my parents."
"How can you make that out?" exclaimed Laurentia.
"He cannot, and he never shall, marry the daughter of parents who
could venture to make him such infamous proposals!"
"Anna!" roared her father, "you are utterly forgetting yourself--it is
time we should have no more of this. A girl who dares to make use of
such language to her parents shows herself unworthy of them. I fully
intended to put an end to this nonsensical love-story altogether. It
has, indeed, already compromised you. I intended to send you away,
for a while, on a visit to Karang Anjer; and I meant you to start on
your journey next week. Now, however, I change my mind; and you must
be off at once--to-morrow morning."
"To-morrow morning!" exclaimed Laurentia. "What will the Steenvlaks
say to this sudden change of plan?"
"Assistant Resident Steenvlak," replied her husband, "has been suddenly
called away to Batavia. He has been obliged to leave Mrs. Steenvlak
and her daughters at Karang Anjer, and, as he may be away from home
for a considerable time, the family will no doubt be glad enough to
have someone to stay with them during his absence. However that may
be, Anna will, I am sure, be welcome. I am going to my office this
moment and will at once send off a telegram to Karang Anjer. To-morrow
morning Anna will start for Poerworedjo, a friend of mine will be
there to meet her, and he will take her on in his carriage to the
Steenvlaks. She will travel by way of Koetoe Ardjo and Keboemen."
Laurentia heaved a deep sigh. "We shall have but very little time to
get her things ready," said she. The remark itself and still more
the way she made it, showed plainly enough that the bother of this
sudden departure touched her much more nearly than the separation
from her child.
"Oh! mother," said Anna as quietly as possible, "pray leave all that
entirely to me. I shall be quite ready to start to-morrow, as early
as ever you please."
"Do you intend her to stay long with the Steenvlaks?" asked Laurentia.
"That will very much depend upon herself," was van Gulpendam's
reply. "I don't want to see her face again, unless she consents to
return in a much more submissive mood, and is prepared to behave in
a dutiful and becoming manner to her parents."
As he uttered these words, van Gulpendam glanced at his daughter
hoping--perhaps expecting--that he might detect in her some signs
of relenting. But, though she was deadly pale, Anna did not betray
the feelings which were stirring within her. On her placid features
there was no trace either of irresolution or of defiance; there was
nothing but quiet determination and settled purpose.
"You have, I presume," continued the Resident, "well weighed and
thoroughly understood what I said?" He rose and prepared to go to
his office.
"Certainly, father, I have understood you perfectly. To-morrow morning
I leave this house never to set foot in it again. Even if you had not
so decided, I myself would have insisted upon an immediate separation."
"Oh, ho! Does the wind sit in that quarter? And pray, may I be
allowed to ask my proud and independent daughter what plans she may
have formed for the future? She surely must be aware that she cannot
quarter herself for an indefinite period of time upon the Steenvlaks?"
Van Gulpendam, as he put the question, assumed a tone and manner in
the highest degree offensive and taunting.
But Anna would not allow herself to be ruffled and, in the calmest
possible way she replied:
"You ask me, father, what are my plans for the future, and I must
beg you to allow me to keep my intentions to myself. For the present
moment I gladly accept the hospitality of the Steenvlaks. You know
how fond I am of the two girls and how much I respect and admire
their mother. But, as to the future, my plans are, at present, I
must confess, very vague. I do not very well know what to say about
them; and, even if I were ever so anxious to give you my confidence,
I could hardly tell you what I intend to do. Of one thing, however,
you may rest assured--whatever may happen, I shall never again be a
source of trouble or expense to you."
"Indeed!" replied van Gulpendam, still in his sneering
tone. "Indeed! And so my daughter seems to fancy that she can step
out into the wide world without a penny in her pocket! I am very
curious to learn what impressions she may have formed of that world."
"You must pardon me, father," replied the young girl still very
quietly; "but now you compel me to touch upon a subject which I feel
is a very delicate one. You have given me an education which has but
very poorly fitted me to provide for my own maintenance. Yes--I might,
perhaps, earn something by giving music lessons; but here in Java I
could not well do so without casting a reflection upon your name. To
go to Holland and there have to roam about the streets in search of
employment--the very thought is repugnant to my feelings. But all
these are matters for future consideration."
"Oh, you think so?" sneered van Gulpendam, "for future
consideration! Now, it appears to me, that in such schemes, the earning
of money ought to be the first and most important consideration."
"Such being your opinion," replied Anna with a sigh, but no less
resolutely and calmly than before, "I must now come to business. I
did not think I should ever have had to speak to you on this
subject at all--indeed the matter would never have crossed my lips,
had not necessity compelled me to speak out freely. Two years ago,
you remember, we received the news that Grandmamma van Gulpendam had
died at Gouda. The same mail which brought us the sad tidings of her
death, brought me a letter forwarded by her lawyer. In that letter the
dear old lady took a most affectionate leave of me and told me how
much she regretted that she had never had the opportunity of seeing
me or becoming acquainted with me. She informed me further that,
in her will, she had left me the sum of 30,000 guilders, and that,
as soon as I was nineteen, the money would be at my disposal. She
begged me, however, not to mention the matter to you as she did not
wish to deprive you of the pleasure of giving me that surprise on my
nineteenth birthday. Her lawyer merely added a few words confirming
my grandmother's communication; and he went on to tell me that he had
invested the capital in the 4 1/2 per cents, and that, by the express
desire of the deceased, the money was not to be realised. Well,
the interest of this sum, which is mine and which you will hardly
refuse to give me, is amply sufficient for my present wants. Next
year I shall be nineteen and I shall then have the power to dispose
of the capital. By that time I shall have made up my mind as to the
manner in which I can most usefully employ it."
All this, the young girl spoke so naturally and so quietly that
both her parents, who latterly had gained some insight into the
character of their daughter, understood perfectly well that they
had to deal with a resolution which nothing could shake. They were,
indeed, greatly surprised to find that Anna was so well informed as
to the dispositions which her grandmother had made in her favour;
but they felt that denial or resistance to her claim were alike
impossible. Indeed her better nature began to prevail over the mother,
and tears stood in her eyes as she said:
"Anna! poor child! what a terrible future you are laying up for
yourself!"
"Mother," was the girl's reply, "a future more terrible than that
which must await me here, I cannot possibly conceive. What worse
misfortunes can overtake me? I defy Fortune to be more cruel to me
in the time to come than she has already shown herself in the past."
At these words van Gulpendam rose from the seat he had resumed. He
put his hand to his throat as if to clear away something which was
rising there and threatened to choke him. But, his was a tyrannical
nature, and he at once repressed the natural emotion which, he feared,
might overcome him. The very consciousness, indeed, of the fact that
his child was so much purer, so much better and stronger than he was
himself, was unbearable to him.
"Yes! yes!" he exclaimed, "that is all mighty fine--very fine and very
romantic! Unfortunately it lacks common sense. We have now said all
we have to say to each other and the upshot of it is that I stick
to my resolution; and that to-morrow morning early, you leave for
Karang Anjer."
"I am not aware, father," said the girl with much dignity, "I am not
aware that I have made any attempt to alter your decision."
"Very good, that settles the matter!" cried van Gulpendam, and then,
with concentrated fury in his voice, he continued: "We shall find
some way of breaking that little temper."
These were his parting words as he turned to go.
On the morrow of this most painful interview, just as day was about
to dawn, a carriage stood waiting at the steps of the residential
mansion. It was one of those light conveyances drawn by four horses
which Europeans often use in the interior of Java where railways are
unknown, and which are well suited to traverse long distances along
broken roads and steep mountain paths. Under the back seat of this
vehicle was strapped a small travelling bag, only just big enough
to contain a few necessary articles of clothing. Anna had made up
her mind that she would not take away with her out of her father's
house any single thing but what was strictly necessary. Even that she
would have left behind, but for the consideration that the interest
of the money left her by her aunt which, for the last two years,
had not been paid to her, amply sufficed to cover the value of the
few things she packed up. Not a single jewel, not one silk dress,
not the least bit of lace, did that little bag contain. She carefully
left all those superfluities behind her, and would carry away nothing
but a little underclothing and a couple of plain muslin dresses.
The small travelling trunk had scarcely been strapped into its place
before Anna herself appeared in the front gallery. She was clad with
the utmost simplicity in a black dress, and dark-coloured bonnet. There
was on her person nothing whatever to catch the eye but the plain
linen collar and the cuffs round her wrists, and these narrow strips
of white seemed only to increase the demureness and earnestness of
her appearance. As she thus prepared to leave her parents' home,
she was alone, not a soul was by to comfort her. The rosy dawn was
casting its friendly light over the garden, upon the shrubs, the
flowers, the leaves, and even over the furniture of the verandah;
and the young girl cast a yearning, sorrowful glance upon all these
familiar objects which awakened so many memories in her breast. For an
instant it seemed as if she hesitated; but it was only for an instant,
for hastily brushing away the tears which were silently stealing down
her cheeks, she sprang upon a splendid Devoniensis which was growing
against the balustrade, and hastily plucked one just opening bud which
she put into her bosom as she muttered with a sob: "My darling flower,
you shall go with me into exile!" and the next moment she had jumped
into the carriage which immediately started.
Not another sigh, not another look. The final separation was thus
accomplished. The vehicle rumbled heavily through the massive
and highly ornamented gates, and then with all speed made for the
hill-country of the interior of Java. Anna meanwhile throwing herself
back in the carriage gave way to sad reflections.
But all the while, hidden by the Venetian blinds, Anna's mother had
been standing and watching her daughter with feverish anxiety. She
had caught the desolate expression in Anna's eyes as she glanced
around upon all those familiar objects which from childhood had been
so dear to her; she had seen the girl plucking that rosebud, and her
eyes had eagerly followed her as she sprang into the carriage. Then a
hoarse cry escaped from her lips, "My God, my God," she sobbed, "has
it come to this? Where there was everything to ensure happiness! How
will all this end?"
Aye indeed; how was it all to end? That was a question to which the
future was to give a terrible answer.
Late on that afternoon, Anna arrived at a small dessa in the interior,
and left her carriage while a change of horses was being made. She
asked the postmaster if he would allow her to sit down and rest awhile
in his bamboo verandah, and he very readily granted her request. Then
she drew forth her writing materials and was soon wholly absorbed in
the work of writing a letter. For a few moments she sat irresolute,
her pale and careworn face plainly enough showing that she had a most
difficult and serious task before her. First she heaved a deep sigh;
then two big, burning tears slowly trickled down and fell heavily on
the paper before her. But at length, by degrees she appeared to be
carried away by her subject, and she wrote on in feverish haste. Yes,
the subject of that letter was indeed to the young girl a serious and
difficult one; for she was composing her last letter to her lover van
Nerekool. In the condition of utter loneliness in which she then was,
she laid bare her whole soul to him, and, although words thus written
were intended to meet the eye only of him to whom they were addressed;
yet the novelist is guilty of no indiscretion if he should glance
over the young girl's shoulder to gain an insight into her feelings
and thus give the motive for her actions. The letter was not a very
long one; yet it cost poor Anna a great deal of anxious thought.
"Mr. van Nerekool," she wrote, "from the evening when we met on the
occasion of the ball at the Residence, I have, in spite of all your
endeavours to obtain another interview, purposely avoided seeing
you again. On that occasion you asked me to become your wife, and
I allowed you to speak to my parents on the subject. Under those
circumstances you were no doubt perfectly justified in seeking for
further intercourse with me, and it is for this reason that I now
address these last words to you. After I left you in the garden, you
had a long interview with my mother, and it was not until the following
morning that I learned what had been the subject of conversation
between you. Pardon me, Mr. van Nerekool, for I know that a child
ought not to criticise the actions of her parents; but it is that
conversation and the fact that my father endorses everything my mother
then said, that makes my union with you impossible. Yours is an upright
and loyal nature, and you cannot and must not think of making me your
wife after the infamous proposals which have been made to you. You will
say perhaps that a child is not guilty of the actions of her parents
and cannot be held responsible for them. In that you are perfectly
right, and I must tell you that my conscience is as clear, and that,
if in my present forlorn condition I may be allowed so to speak, I, at
this present moment, hold up my head as high as before I knew anything
of my mother's designs. But to be always face to face with the man to
whom the odious propositions were made; to be ever conscious, even in
our tenderest moments, of the fact that I was flung to the man I love
as the price of dishonour, that is a prospect which to me is utterly
unendurable. You are a gentleman, and, as such, you would, no doubt,
always have treated my parents with deference and with the proper show
of respect; but to know that all this must be a mere empty show put
on in deference to a daughter's natural affections, O Charles!--allow
me for the last time to call you by that dear name--O Charles! that
would have made life an intolerable burden to me, and must inevitably,
in the end, have destroyed your happiness also.
"I am writing these words to you from Sapoeran where I am resting for
a few minutes while we are changing horses. You have, no doubt, heard
that I am going on to Karang Anjer to stay with the Steenvlaks. My
father, I know, has proclaimed that fact loudly enough and it must
have come to your ears. Yes! I am now on my way to that lonely
retreat; but that is only the first stage on the long and difficult
road which lies before me. Do you ask what I intend to do? Well,
my dear friend, I myself do not yet know what my future course will
be. It is most probable that I shall try and get away to Europe,
or perhaps to Australia. This much, however, is quite certain;
that after my visit to the Steenvlaks I shall disappear altogether;
for the very name of van Gulpendam has become hateful to me. But,
Charles, when I shall have vanished, when even my very name shall no
longer be mentioned, and I shall be as one over whom the grave has
closed; then, I know, you will be generous enough to give a thought
now and then to the poor girl who, innocent of even a thought of evil,
would have esteemed herself only too happy to have been able to call
herself yours; but for whom such happiness was not reserved. One
request I have to make. Do not lose sight of Dalima. I know her sad
condition. I know all about it. I know more about her misfortunes,
at least as far as its authors are concerned, than you can do. But,
for my sake, I know you will not leave that unhappy girl to her
fate. I have no doubt that on the pretended accusation of opium
smuggling, she will be found guilty, and condemned. I know it but
too well! With our false notions of right and wrong, whenever opium
enters into any question, no other result is, I fear, possible. But,
oh! I beg of you, do not abandon her. Do not allow her, when once she
regains her freedom, to sink into that pool of infamy into which all
her countrymen inevitably fall, when, guilty, or not guilty, they
have once come under the ban of our criminal law. And now, dearest
Charles, farewell! In this world we shall meet no more. I will not,
I cannot, ask you to forget me, a passing thought you will sometimes
bestow upon her who now will bear no other name than
"Anna."
This letter the poor girl put into the hands of the postmaster,
and it was sent off in due course though not so soon as she wished;
for in those inland parts the mail goes out but twice a week.
Although the distance between Sapoeran and Poerworedjo was not very
great, yet the sun had fairly set before the carriage reached the
latter place. Anna put up at the hotel, and, after having partaken of
some refreshment, she lay down thoroughly wearied out by the journey,
and fortunately she was soon fast asleep.
After this short digression which the thread of our story required,
we return to the Residence at Santjoemeh.
When the secretary left the room, Resident van Gulpendam had bitterly
exclaimed: "Oh, if Anna would but consent!"
For a while he seemed lost in thought and sat turning over in his
mind how matters would have stood if Anna could have persuaded van
Nerekool to give way, and if he, on the conditions proposed to him,
had been appointed President of the court.
"Well!" he muttered at length, "it can't be helped. However, we shall
manage I suppose to weather this Norwester and to get our boat safe
into harbour."
"But," he continued, "what did the secretary mean by alluding to that
clause in the opium-law? Let me see, which was it? Oh yes, I have it,
clause 23. Just let us have another look at it!"
Herewith he took up the bundle of papers which he had replaced among
other documents on the ledge over his writing-table. For some time
he fingered the pages, turning them over impatiently, at length he
exclaimed: "Oh, here we are! No. 228. Now let us see, clause 23--'All
offences committed against the regulations herein laid down to which
no special penalties are attached, are punishable by a fine of one
thousand to ten thousand guilders for every hundred katies of opium
or under, and of one hundred guilders for every additional katie?' By
Jove! the fellow is right after all!--that's where the coast lies,
is it? We shall have to get out another anchor. It is not at all a
bad idea, but--"
"The inspector requests the honour of an interview with you Kandjeng
toean!" cried one of the oppassers, as he flung open the door to
announce Mr. Meidema.
"Show him in," was the reply.
"Resident," began the inspector as he entered, "I just now met your
secretary, and he told me that you wished to see me."
"Quite right, Mr. Meidema, pray be seated. I have just seen your report
on that smuggling business at Moeara Tjatjing; but I am surprised to
find that your statement does not at all agree with the actual facts
of the case."
"How is that, Resident?"
"No, Mr. Meidema, no it does not. Will you please try to recall our
conversation on the very evening of the discovery?" continued the
Resident with his eye steadily fixed upon his subordinate.
"I remember that conversation perfectly, Resident."
"Well," resumed van Gulpendam, "if my memory serves me, I then pointed
out to you--and I did so by means of witnesses--that the opium was
found in the possession of the Javanese called Ardjan. At the time
you seemed to agree with me."
"Certainly, Resident, I did not just then venture to contradict the
opinion you had formed, and which you so positively stated as your
conviction. It was, however, my duty to investigate the matter--"
"And?"--interrupted van Gulpendam.
"And the result of that investigation has led me to the conclusions I
have embodied in the report of the case which, as head of the police,
it was my duty to draw up."
"Yes," hastily said the Resident, "against all probability, and in
the teeth of the evidence!"
"By your leave, Resident," said Meidema, "the report--"
"Shall I tell you," broke in van Gulpendam, "shall I tell you to what
your investigation has led you?"
But Mr. Meidema, carried away by his argument, paid no heed to the
question, and continued:
"The report, for the matter of that, is not binding upon the court."
"That's a good job too," said van Gulpendam, somewhat sarcastically;
"but I asked you just now to what your inquiry has led you."
"To what it has led me, Resident?" replied Meidema. "I think that is
a very strange question, coming from you. I have, as I was in duty
bound, held an inquiry simply for the sake of arriving at the truth."
"Of course, Mr. Meidema, that is supposed to be the object of every
inquiry; but I think that this particular investigation may have led
you to a somewhat different result."
"What may that be, Resident?" asked the other, calmly.
"It has led you to the discovery that the fines, which are to be
divided among the finders of the smuggled opium, can more easily be
recovered from the wealthy farmer than from the poor Javanese fellow
out of which no one can screw anything at all."
"Resident!" cried Meidema, "such language--"
"Mr. Meidema, pray be calm. My words merely express the impression
which your report has made upon my mind."
"But, Resident, I have nothing whatever to do with the fines. They
are no business of mine. I am perfectly acquainted with the law on
the subject, and I really do not know what meaning I must attach to
your insinuations."
"Oh, come," said van Gulpendam scornfully, "do you think I am not up
to all the dodges by which the law may be evaded?"
"Resident," said Meidema, indignantly, "I must really request you
to modify your opinion of me. I never have stooped to any of the
dodges you think fit to allude to. Not a single penny of the fines,
not a single grain of the opium has ever come into my hands. And,
allow me to say, that if you do not feel thoroughly convinced that
when I say so I speak the bare truth--why then the office you hold
compels you to lodge an accusation against me at head quarters."
"Mr. Meidema," said van Gulpendam, coolly, "we are, I fear, wandering
away from our subject. You tell me that you have been holding an
inquiry--do you not? Now pray let me know, whose evidence may you
have heard?"
"Whose evidence? Why, in the first place that of the prisoner Ardjan--"
"Of course, he has told you that he has nothing to do with the matter,
that I can quite understand. Whom else did you examine?"
"I next took the evidence of baboe Dalima--"
"Oh, yes, she also is locked up on a charge of opium smuggling; she
has no doubt given her lover a most excellent character. Fine witnesses
those of yours, Mr. Meidema, I must say. Have you any others?"
"Yes," replied the Inspector, quietly, "I have examined the dessa
people who were that night pressed to assist in Ardjan's arrest."
"And?" cried van Gulpendam, impatiently. "Come, look sharp!"
"And their story contradicts, on almost every point, that of the
police oppassers."
"Of course it does, those dessa dogs always hang together; but all
that ought not to have satisfied you as Chief Inspector of Police."
"No, Resident, it ought not, I confess; and what is more, it has
not," continued Meidema. "When the evidence appeared to me so very
contradictory, I myself went down in person to Moeara Tjatjing,
to inspect the boat in which Ardjan is said to have brought the
opium ashore."
"And you found nothing?" inquired van Gulpendam.
"Oh, yes, Resident, I did. I found the surf-boat, and I am fully
satisfied that it was much too small to contain the captured opium."
"If I remember rightly, Mr. Meidema," observed van Gulpendam, "that
boat is said to have held two persons, Ardjan and Dalima?"
"Quite so, Resident."
"The boat then was large enough to hold those two, eh?"
"Yes, Resident, it might have done so; but there was room for nothing
more."
"But," asked van Gulpendam, "supposing now that baboe Dalima never
was in that boat at all--what would you say to that, Mr. Meidema?"
"Never in the boat at all, Resident!" exclaimed the other, in
astonishment.
"In that case," continued the Resident, "I suppose there might have
been room for the opium if carefully stowed away?"
"Well, yes, perhaps," said Meidema; "but the proof--"
"Oh, yes, the proof--I can find you proof enough. I myself can solemnly
declare that, during the whole of that night, baboe Dalima never left
my house at all. And not only so, but all the members of my family
are ready to declare as much."
"Well!" said Meidema, "then all I can say is that the case is beginning
to assume a very serious aspect."
"Why! What are you driving at now?" exclaimed van Gulpendam. "Come,
man, fire away!"
"I mean that your statement directly contradicts the word of your
daughter."
"My daughter--the chatter of a silly girl!"
"Not so, Resident," continued Meidema, very seriously, "I have in my
possession a formal statement in Miss van Gulpendam's own handwriting,
in which she gives a detailed account of baboe Dalima's abduction,
of her forcible detention on board the schooner brig Kiem Ping Hin,
and of her rescue by Ardjan."
Van Gulpendam turned pale at those words, he felt as if he had
received a stunning blow; Mr. Meidema, however, did not allow him
time to recover his composure, but continued:
"I have further in my possession the sworn testimony of the mate and
the crew of the coastguard ship Matamata, which proves that on the
night in question they manned the cutter in order to give chase to
a surf-boat which contained two persons. That they fired upon them;
but that they were compelled to give up the chase because of the
tremendous sea that was running at Moeara Tjatjing in which their
clumsy craft would have had no chance to keep afloat. Thus you
perceive, Resident, that there were actually two persons in that
boat, and that, consequently, there could have been no room for the
opium. Moreover--"
"What else?" broke in van Gulpendam, who was gradually recovering
from his surprise.
"Moreover, the surf-boat was dashed to pieces on the beach. I saw
the wreck lying partly in the water and partly covered with mud,
and I have witnesses to prove that the cases, in which the smuggled
opium was packed, had not been in contact with sea-water at all. No,
no, Resident, I am firmly persuaded that the stuff never came
ashore in that boat, and further, that Ardjan has had no hand in
the transaction."
For a few moments the Resident sat lost in thought.
"Mr. Meidema," he said at length, "have you, as you were bound to do,
employed an expert to ascertain the quantity, the quality, and the
particular kind of opium that was found?"
"Yes, Resident, I have done so."
"Have you secured the surf-boat itself?"
"Yes, Resident," replied Meidema, "I did so; but, owing to some strange
neglect for which I am unable to account, the watchman at the town
jail, who had charge of the boat and with whom I had deposited it
for safety, had broken up the boat and used the timber for firewood."
A smile flitted over van Gulpendam's features, as he muttered,
inaudibly: "I have found the leak, I can caulk it," and then, aloud,
he said: "That's a thousand pities--to whose negligence do you ascribe
that?--But, never mind, we can look into that some other time. Now,
Mr. Meidema, will you allow me to give you a piece of good advice?"
"Oh, Resident, you know, I am always most happy to receive good
advice," was the reply.
"Your finances," continued van Gulpendam, "are not in the most
flourishing condition, I think. Eh?"
"Resident!"
"You have a large family--and your expenses must be considerable. Well
then, my advice to you is this: Try and arrange matters quietly with
the opium farmer."
"What do you mean, Resident?" cried Meidema, in utter amazement.
"You are shrewd enough, Mr. Meidema, to understand my drift. Lim
Yang Bing is a wealthy man, and a kind, indulgent father. His son,
you know, is on the eve of making an excellent match. He won't be so
very particular just now as to what he pays."
"Resident!"
"And then," continued van Gulpendam, "another piece of advice let me
give you. Very luckily for you the court, which was to have sat to-day
and given judgment on that opium-case, has been adjourned. You see,
you have yet time to alter that report of yours; which, I must say,
appears to me to be drawn up with too much partiality."
"That I will never do!" cried Meidema, vehemently interrupting
his chief.
"Mr. Meidema," resumed van Gulpendam, "I am merely giving you friendly
advice. You have a large family--there are a good many mouths to
feed. However, think the matter over well."
"No, never, never, Resident!"
"Very well, in that case our interview may be considered at an end. But
don't be in a hurry, think it over well."
When Mr. Meidema had left, the Resident stood for a while gazing after
him. At length, hoarse with passion, he cried out: "That opposition
must be overcome."